we tried to love the symphony seldom played

From the archive, a poem about playing in an orchestra. If recollection serves me correctly, we may have been rehearsing a seldom performed Tchaikovsky symphony. My ongoing relationship with music has also inspired: And a – a poem with a boogie woogie beat Nightstar of Sirius – written during a jazz concert We stayed up late and

Nos Liberavit

“the maiden’s voice soars and plunges as she elongates the siren call” Image “Midnight Harp” courtesy of Esmira

Nos Liberavit

Bell-like, round and clear Hopeful and transparent as a copper bauble, it lifts the congregation. From the sanctuary the maiden’s voice soars and plunges as she elongates the siren call.   — I am not a groupie. I’d rather spend my days in a hermit’s hut on a mountainside with books, green tea and yoga